


Graceless Heart

by ChameleonCircuit



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: 18x19, 19x13, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Canon Compliant Timeline, Cuddling, First Kiss, First Time, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, M/M, Post 18X07, References to Canon, Sex, Smut, Trauma, in relation to Sonny anyway, starisi - Freeform, vague smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-04-30 12:48:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14497326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChameleonCircuit/pseuds/ChameleonCircuit
Summary: He’d never seen Sonny cry. Granted, he’d barely seen the man since college, and despite having been here for four days now, he’d barely seen him due to work. Sure he’d seen Sonny emotional, but not like this. This was beyond hurt, or upset; this was trauma. This was Sonny not being able to get enough air in his lungs to even keep up the illusion of holding it together, and Peter had absolutely no idea what to do.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thanks to tobeconspicuous for being my beta and helping me turn my trashy headcanon into something legible.

Peter almost fell off the lounge when he jolted awake, heart beating out a samba against his ribs, the evening sun half-blinding him as it shone through the window. He squinted, covering his eyes with one arm as he propped himself up with the other, trying to work out what had woken him. Then he heard it, the creak of the front door as it slowly opened. Without checking the time he knew it was far too early for Sonny to be home. For the past three days it had been nearing 10 pm, preceded by a text asking him if he wanted him to pick him up any food on the way home. After the first night, Peter had taken to making sure he cooked for Sonny so he wouldn’t have to rely on take-out until he had a rare day off to cook in bulk again.

 

He pushed himself up to a seated position, heart still pounding in his chest as he checked his phone for a message from Sonny. When there was no alert, he rose to scan the room for a potential weapon. It was then that he heard the jingle of keys as the door swung open fully, and he sagged with relief, the haze of sleep still gripping his limbs.

 

“Hey, you’re home early,” Peter said quietly, rubbing his eyes as he glanced down at his phone again.

 

When no response came, he glanced up at Sonny again, who was now paused in the doorway, hand still gripping his keys, expression strangely blank.

 

“Sonny?”

 

Peter moved towards him, head tilted to try and catch his eyes. Sonny blinked a few times before meeting his gaze. He felt a chill wash over him at the sight of his friend. The usual vibrant, full-of-life glint in his eye was gone, replaced by an empty dullness that looked so out of place with the man he knew. His eyes flicked up to the splash of red-brown at his hairline, mingling with the dark blond roots, and he felt gooseflesh rise on his skin.

 

“What happened?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.

 

Sonny dumped his keys in the tray as he toed his shoes off. “Nothing.”

 

There was a beat of silence between them, long enough for Sonny to hang his coat up but nothing more.

 

“There’s blood on you,” Peter pointed out, motioning to Sonny’s hairline. His eyes tracked his own movement, and he noticed the flecks on Sonny’s collar that he’d missed earlier.

 

Sonny sucked in a deep, shuddering breath, body heaving with the effort. Peter felt his stomach flip at the sight of Sonny pitching forward a little, hand splayed against the wall as he took another breath in, this time much sharper and more desperate.

 

“Hey,” he whispered, hand hovering above Sonny’s shoulder as the detective dropped his head, body shuddering.

 

Gently, cautiously, Peter let his hand make contact, and he seemed to crumble at the touch, his knees buckling as his palm slipped from the wall. Peter’s reflexes were quicker than his brain as he caught Sonny, one arm around his waist, the other around his back, pulling his old friend towards him.

 

He’d never seen Sonny cry. Granted, he’d barely seen the man since college, and despite having been here for four days now, he’d barely seen him due to work. Sure he’d seen Sonny emotional, but not like this. This was beyond hurt, or upset; this was trauma. This was Sonny not being able to get enough air in his lungs to even keep up the illusion of holding it together, and Peter had absolutely no idea what to do.

 

“I’m-I’m fi-fine,” Sonny stuttered out between gasps, chest heaving against Peters as he tried to push him away.

 

He could feel his own arms trembling with uncertainty and a large dose of empathy. Whatever this was, it was big, and his heart was going wild behind his ribs.

 

He rubbed a soothing hand up and down the detective’s back. “Just breathe, Sonny,”

 

“I’m fucking trying,” he snapped, landing a fist against Peters sternum before burying his face in the fabric, hands holding Peters biceps in a vice grip.

 

Peter just stood there feeling entirely helpless as he breathed deep and slow, hoping Sonny would find the action soothing enough to follow suit. Eventually, his breathing evened out, and he moved a step away from Peter, face eerily blank again as he rubbed at his damp cheeks.

 

He could see the blood under Sonny’s collar now, too. Long streaks of it running towards his shoulder and chest, and he felt a lump form in his throat at how close Sonny must have been to whoever got shot for there to have been so much blood on him. He could almost smell it as he pictured the detective’s face painted in a bright, shocking red.

 

He couldn’t help himself as his hands ghosted across Sonny’s face, stomach twisting at the look of wide-eyed terror forming on his face. It didn’t matter how much time had passed, Sonny would always hold a piece of his heart, and right now that piece was hurting.

 

Without thinking, Peter brushed his knuckles across Sonny’s cheek before pulling him in for a bone-crushing hug. Sonny froze in his arms, and he worried he’d over-stepped a boundary he didn’t know existed -- one that had been put up between college and now -- but then Sonny was gripping him tightly, face pressed into his neck, this time less panicked and more desperate for contact, for comfort.

 

The room grew dark as they stood there holding each other. It should have been awkward, but all Peter could feel was relief. Relief that Sonny was in one piece, relief that time and distance hadn’t changed things between them, relief that Sonny still sought comfort in his arms.

 

“I thought I was gonna die,” Sonny whispered, shifting his head so he wasn’t mumbling into Peter’s neck. Peter tightened his grip just a little as Sonny continued. “I was so stupid. He just came up behind me, surprised me. I thought I’d cleared every room, then suddenly there was a gun to my head.”

 

Sonny’s breath hitched, and Peter felt his stomach churn at the mental image.

 

“All that training just doesn’t...I was useless. All I was aware of was the gun pressed to my head. And then there was a bang, and I could taste blood, feel it running down my face, and I thought...I thought I was gone.”

 

Sonny pulled back, letting his arms fall to his side, eyes looking everywhere but Peter’s face. “I thought it was over. If Liv didn’t…I can still feel it on my skin. I can still smell it. I…”

 

He trailed off with a slight sniff before looking up. Peter swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, his breath shaking a little as his vision clouded over with unshed tears. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came.

 

“I’m alive. It’s not worth bein’ upset over,” Sonny teased with a wet laugh, but his expression froze when Peter grabbed his shoulders, meeting his eyes with a level gaze.

 

“You could have died. I--I could have lost you.”

 

Sonny stared at him, mouth hanging open just a little, and Peter wondered for the second time that night if he’d overstepped a boundary. 

 

“Where’d that come from?” Sonny asked quietly, expression softening a little.

 

“You almost died.”

 

“But I didn’t.”

 

“But you could have,” Peter insisted, voice wavering.

 

“Quit reminding me.” He could tell Sonny meant it as a joke, but the expression on his face as he looked away felt like a punch to the gut.

 

Peter reached down, taking Sonny’s hand in his, and wordlessly lead him to the bedroom.

 

“Take your shirt off,” he ordered gently before leaving the room to get a washcloth.

 

He sighed heavily, leaning against the basin as he adjusted the water temperature. He wasn’t equipped to handle this and he knew it. He’d never been good at dealing with other people's pain without taking some of it on board, and right now, that was the opposite of helpful.

 

When he returned to the bedroom, Sonny was sitting on the bed, chest bare and eyes a little hazy. Carefully, he knelt down between Sonny’s legs, reaching up with the warm washer to rub at the blood on his neck and collarbone. Slowly, bit by bit, Peter removed the red stains from Sonny’s skin and hair, the pain in his chest subsiding just a little with each fresh patch of white skin.

 

Just as he rested back to make sure the job was done, he heard Sonny’s breath hitch and he watched his head fall, chin lolling towards his chest. Peter leaned in a little, brushing his hand lightly across Sonny’s cheek, flinching just slightly as his breath hitched again. Sonny was trying not to cry.

 

“Hey,” he said softly, leaning in to catch Sonny’s eyes with his own.

 

Sonny looked at him, eyes wide and glassy like they were earlier, and Peter felt a renewed sense of helplessness wash over him. 

 

“Did your Lieutenant make you see a psych?” Sonny shook his head in response, so Peter added, “You should.”

 

Peter sighed as Sonny shook his head again. Slowly, he picked himself up off the floor so he could sit beside the detective. “It’ll help.”

 

“How?” Sonny croaked out, still staring at the spot where Peter had been sitting.

 

“It’s what they’re trained for.”

 

Sonny simply shrugged in response, and after a beat of silence, Peter stood up to take the washcloth away. Just as he was about to step aside, Sonny grabbed hold of his wrist. He stared, stomach doing somersaults as Sonny flinched away as quickly as he had reached out.

 

“I’ll be back,” he said softly, hesitant to leave.

 

In the bathroom, he tossed the washcloth in Sonny’s hamper before leaning back against the wall to take a deep breath in. He was entirely out of his depth, and as much as he wanted to be there for his friend, he also wasn’t sure he was the right person for the job. 

 

They’d barely spoken since Sonny had joined the academy, and it was only by pure chance that he was here now, staying in Sonny’s apartment instead of the nice hotel he’d originally booked, or his childhood bedroom, a shadow of what it used to be. It was only by chance that Peter had happened to bump into Sonny on the steps of the courthouse on the day he’d arrived, and though the Sonny he knew would have offered his apartment in a heartbeat after finding out the hotel had messed up his booking, he’d still been surprised by the offer.

 

Now here he was, three days later, his chest tight and his stomach going for gold in the gymnastics while Sonny struggled to hold it together. He was terrified he was somehow going to make things worse because the man he’d been in love with since the first moment he met him had almost died. He didn’t quite know how to handle that. He felt sick to his stomach, because he felt just a little bit let down by the fact that the nice routine they’d fallen into had been changed irreparably.

 

“You hungry?” He called out, wincing at the waver in his voice as he re-entered the bedroom. Sonny only shook his head in response. “You should eat something.”

 

When Sonny didn’t acknowledge the suggestion, Peter sighed, sitting beside him on the bed again. He’d dealt with trauma before, but not like this. It was always victims and witnesses. People he didn’t have a personal relationship with, people he only cared about on a surface level. He could be gentle and kind and delicate when it was warranted, then hand them back to the people who would look after them in their real lives. Now he was that person, and he was at a loss.

 

Unless Sonny had changed a lot over the past years -- and judging by what he’d seen in the past few days, he highly doubted it -- then he would never ask anyone for help because, in his mind, everyone had their own things to deal with, and he didn’t want to bother them. He’d been like that all through college, when he was stressed over exams, when his Dad was sick, when his grandfather died. It didn’t matter what the situation was, he would never reach out. He had realized this about Sonny very early on and had always made an effort to be there, to be close, to be the best friend that he could be.

 

He could remember the deep sadness that had clung to Sonny after his grandfather had passed away. As soon as Peter laid eyes on him he could tell something had happened. He’d stayed over that night, and held Sonny close until they had fallen asleep. He longed for that now, to be able to take Sonny in his arms and ease some of the pain just by holding him, by loving him without question.

 

“Sonny?” He prompted quietly, after what felt like far too much silence.

 

Sonny jumped a little -- flinched, more like it -- before turning to look at Peter. He looked exhausted and small, and it gave Peter the strength to bite back on his fear and uncertainty and take Sonny’s hand in his as he scooted up the bed to rest against the head. “Come on.”

 

Sonny complied, though Peter wasn’t sure if it was because he actually wanted to, or because it was easier to obey an order than to think for himself at that moment. Regardless, he pushed his uncertainty aside and pulled Sonny towards him, flush against his side, his arm wrapped around Sonny’s shoulders. He watched as the tension slowly eased from the detective’s limbs, his head coming to rest on Peter’s chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. He hated that this is the reason for their intimacy, and he hated how guilty he felt because of how much he wanted it.

 

As Sonny’s breath evened out, his body becoming a deadweight against his side, Peter felt a strange sense of contentedness, like maybe this was okay, maybe he was the right person for the job after all.

 

\--

 

Peter wasn’t quite sure what woke him at first, as he rubbed at his eyes. He hadn’t even intended to fall asleep, much less fall asleep tucked up in Sonny’s bed. Sonny -- that was what had woken him. He could hear the detective’s ragged breathing, feel him trembling against him, hands fisting into the front of his shirt as he tried to suck air into his lungs.

 

“Sonny,” he whispered, shifting a little so he could look at the other man properly.

 

He wasn’t sure if it was the movement or the whispered name, but Sonny’s eyes shot open, wide and terrified, as he pushed away from Peter with so much force that he nearly knocked them both off the bed.

 

“Hey,” he whispered, holding his hands out towards Sonny as though he were a frightened animal.

 

Sonny stared at him for a moment, but Peter wasn’t sure he could actually see him. Then he shuddered, entire body trembling before he pushed himself up off the bed and half-sprinted across the hall. As he heard Sonny empty the contents of his stomach, his own stomach twisted in sympathy.

 

“Sonny?” He called out quietly, making his presence known before he entered the bathroom, blinking against the harsh light.

 

His chest tightened at the sight of Sonny hunched over the toilet bowl, his entire body trembling with the effort of holding himself upright. Slowly, he approached Sonny, kneeling down beside him before placing a tentative hand on his back. He shuddered at the contact, causing Peter to flinch away, but when Sonny started heaving again, his hands instantly returned to his back, rubbing gentle, soothing circles.

 

Even once the dry-heaving had stopped, Sonny’s body continued to tremble violently enough for Peter to be worried.

 

“This is embarrassing,” Sonny croaked out, turning his head to the side to look at Peter with wet, red-rimmed eyes. 

 

His stomach churned with the desperate need to do something, but all he could do was offer a shrug and a weak smile that wasn’t returned. Gently, without really thinking, he reached out to push the damp hair off Sonny’s forehead, his hand coming around to cup the man’s jaw. Sonny seemed to lean into the contact, which made something akin to hope bloom inside his chest, followed by a sharp stab of guilt.

 

“Come on,” he said quietly, standing up slowly, hand outstretched.

 

Sonny tentatively took hold, still shaking. Peter helped him to stand, wrapping an arm around him when he keened to the side a little. Sonny sighed heavily before leaning into him, pressing his face into the crook of his neck.

 

“You didn’t sign up for this when you came to stay with me,” he said quietly, voice shaking a little.

 

Peter shrugged, nudging them both towards the bedroom. He didn’t have anything to say to that. Somehow saying, ‘I’m always here for you,’ felt wrong in that moment. Because the truth was, he wasn’t. At least, he hadn’t been. Not for the past fifteen years. And now suddenly here he was, arms around the man who’d moved on from him, who’d left him behind like no time had passed.

 

Without discussing it, without even thinking about it, Peter slipped back into bed with Sonny, a protective arm around him as they fell back asleep.

 

\--

 

They formed a routine for the remainder of Peter’s stay, and though he wanted to address it every minute of every day, he couldn’t find the courage to say anything.

 

They didn’t talk about the fact that Peter now shared Sonny’s bed, or the way Sonny sought out contact in the middle of the night, or the fact that, every night, without fail, Sonny found himself a mess on the bathroom floor with Peter physically trying to hold him together. He would make them both breakfast, they’d go about their day as normal, dinner would be waiting for Sonny when he got home, then they’d crawl into bed together to repeat the process.

 

It would have been domestic bliss if they simply slept soundly together, if whatever this was didn’t have an expiration date. Instead, it was grim and exhausting. It felt so entirely fake that it broke Peter’s heart repeatedly, every morning, when Sonny would act as though everything was normal and head off to work. 

 

He was a coward and he knew it -- too afraid of ruining what was potentially the rebirth of what had once been a brilliant friendship to address what was actually going on between them. Because he was scared that, at the base of it, all Sonny needed was someone to be there for him while his life was falling apart around him, that if Sonny didn’t need him then he wouldn’t want him.

 

More than that, he hated that he was almost enjoying this. Some sick, twisted part of him was enjoying their entirely fucked up situation. He liked the intimacy, the trust, the domesticity of cooking for someone and looking after someone. Sometimes, he could almost convince himself it was nice, that everything was fine. Then he’d be woken in the middle of the night to Sonny trembling against him, gasping for breath, and his heart broke all over again.

 

The morning Peter left for the airport, Sonny didn’t even look at him. He didn’t thank him for breakfast or wish him a good day. He picked at his food, left most of it behind, and was out before Peter could think of the right thing to say.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmm I'm still not 100% happy with this chapter, but I honestly don't think I can do much better with it. But I'm really happy with how the rest of this story is coming along!
> 
> Huge thanks to tobeconspicuous for acting as beta and honestly helping to make this chapter actually make sense. It was a mess before she touched it.

It was funny, Peter thought, how one week could feel like it had changed your entire life. 

 

Suddenly, Sonny was at the forefront of his mind in everything he did. Before he had just been a distant memory, a potential, a ‘what if’ from his past.  Now, he was the first thing Peter thought about when he woke up and the last thing he thought about before he went to sleep.

 

He itched with the urge to pick up the phone, to text, to call, just to make sure Sonny was okay, if nothing else. But he was uncertain of where they stood, and an unnamed fear kept him from reaching out.

 

It only took two days for Sonny to call. 

 

Two days. 

 

To Peter, it felt like a lifetime.

 

He checked the time, eyes bleary with sleep as he swiped to accept the call. 3:06 am.

 

“Yeah?” he mumbled, rubbing his face as he let his head fall back on the pillow.

 

There was an extended beat of silence before he heard a small scuffle and what sounded eerily like a suffocated sob. He sat up, suddenly far more alert.

 

“Sorry,” he heard muttered amongst hitched, shaky breaths. “Sorry.”

 

His chest tightened and his stomach swooped at the thought of Sonny struggling alone. He didn’t have the words, not at the best of times, but certainly not at three in the morning entirely unexpected.

 

“I should...I shouldn’t have called.”

 

“I’m glad you did,” Peter said softly, hoping his exhaustion wouldn’t come across as frustration. “Another dream?”

 

He could hear Sonny muttering a strange mix of curses and prayers to himself as he tried to get his breathing under control. He ached to be able to reach out and physically hold Sonny as he had the previous week. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but it was a million times better than this. He felt helpless, useless, being miles away in a separate bed, unable to touch, unable to see, unable to truly gauge the situation. He had his answer now -- Sonny was definitely not okay.

 

“Sonny, breathe with me,” he said quietly before slowing his breaths down, exaggerating them so they would be loud enough for Sonny to hear.

 

Slowly but surely the ragged, sharp intakes subsided, and the hitching died down. Sonny sounded almost peaceful on the other end. Still, Peter kept his breathing even and deep, long after he was sure Sonny had fallen asleep. Just in case. 

 

When Peter woke the next morning his phone was still resting lightly in his hand. A strange mix of happiness, sadness and guilt flooded him as he connected it to his charger.

 

As he showered, dressed, and made breakfast, his mind was on Sonny. He wondered if he was okay, if he was eating, if he was struggling at work. It was on a whim that he sent Sonny a text with a photo of him cooking eggs with a message that said,  _ made you breakfast _ .

 

**Sonny**

_ I miss your cooking lol _

 

Peter grinned to himself, ducking his head even though he had no one to hide from as a warmth spread from his chest, filling him up.

 

**Peter**

_ Of course you do. I’m an excellent chef. _

 

**Sonny**

_ Not sure I’d go that far. Better than takeout and a liquid breakfast when I don’t have time _

 

Peter bit his lip, fingers hovering over the keypad as he tried to think of something suitably light and witty to send back. In the back of his mind, he was aware Sonny was putting on a front, doing what he usually did by pretending everything was fine, but in that moment he found he didn’t care.

 

**Peter**

_ In that case I may never cook for you again. _

 

He didn’t really expect a response, but the crying emoji he received followed by the prayer hands set his heart alight, and he went to work that morning with a smile on his face for the first time since he’d got back.

 

That became their new normal. They would check in with each other every day and text each other about inane, everyday things, just for the sake of keeping contact. They would fall asleep texting, and Peter would often wake up in the middle of the night to a message from Sonny asking if he was awake. He always said he was, and he always kept his volume up, just in case Sonny needed him.

 

Texting turned into phone calls every night, which turned into facetime, with Sonny always falling asleep as they spoke, listening to Peter talk about nothing in particular. He knew from the exhaustion in Sonny’s voice, from the 3 am texts, from the bags under his eyes, that he wasn’t coping, but Peter wasn’t sure how to address the issue. Every time he’d tried to bring it up Sonny’s voice filled with panic as he tried to tell Peter he was fine, he was managing, that it was in the past, and every time it shut him up. It was illogical, he knew he wasn’t to blame, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of being the one to cause the light to disappear from Sonny’s eyes again.

 

It had been three months, and as Peter lay in bed listening to Sonny’s deep, even breathing on the other end of the phone, he couldn’t help but wonder what things could have been like if life hadn’t got in the way after college.

 

A lump formed in his throat at the thought of how different things might have been if Sonny hadn’t joined the academy, or if he hadn’t been recruited by the Cubs. At the time it had seemed like everything he had ever wanted, but now, looking back, he wished he’d stuck around to see where things could have gone. He half laughed, half sniffed as he hung up, instantly missing the sound of silent company. 

 

He felt ridiculous for holding onto a ‘what if’, but the more he thought about it, the more he wondered if it was fear that had kept them apart, and not their respective careers. 

 

He had loved Sonny so fiercely and so deeply. Even now, he could remember the mix of fear and excitement that ran through him every time Sonny’s hand brushed his, every time Sonny passed out drunk beside him in bed, every time they shared a joke that no one else knew about. He’d conjured up the image of Sonny’s disappointed face when he’d told him he was moving to Chicago, that he’d been recruited by the Cubs, so many times, questioning whether he’d imagined it.

 

He could still picture it, clear as day, the way Sonny’s face fell momentarily before he grinned, clapping Peter on the arm as he congratulated him.

 

He sighed as he rolled over to plug his phone into the charger.

 

Sometimes, when they were joking and laughing and having fun, Peter could forget that they were in this situation because Sonny had nearly died. That he had suffered a trauma that he was refusing to address. When it was silly text messages and reminiscing about college, Peter could imagine that there truly was something between them. That this budding thing, whatever it was, was something that could blossom and shine if they let it.

 

But he was too afraid to ask, too afraid to even attempt to put a name to it. At the end of the day, he wasn’t even sure of Sonny’s sexual orientation. He’d only ever heard of Sonny’s past girlfriends, only ever heard him make comments about girls in his class, only ever heard him talk about his dream future with a wife and kids. He knew he didn’t fit into that at all.

 

He opened his message log with Sonny, thumbs hovering over the keypad, a million questions in his head begging to be asked. Was he talking to someone, dealing with what happened? Was he missing Peter as much as Peter was missing him? Did he ever think about how different things would have been, could have been, if Peter hadn’t moved away?  _ Did he feel the same way? _

 

They were questions he was too afraid to ask, whether it be because he hurt Sonny or he exposed himself. If he was brave, if he could be brave for just a minute, he would ask every single question that was eating away at him. Instead, he let the screen go black, fingers still hovering, too scared to put his feelings on the table.

 

As he rolled over, phone abandoned on his side table, his stomach twisted with guilt. Sonny needed a friend, not some asshole with a crush. He was being selfish and he knew it.

 

Still, as he fell asleep, his mind swirling with unanswered questions, he dreamt of Sonny’s lips on his. Gentle, soft, and oh so tender.

 

\--

 

Four months in, and other than those first two days back in Chicago, Peter hadn’t gone a single day without hearing from Sonny. Until now.

 

Now, it had been almost a week, and he was going mad with worry. If it weren’t for his own hefty workload he would be on a flight to NYC before he could think twice about it.

 

Every morning he wished Sonny a good morning, every afternoon he asked him how his day had been, and every night he would try calling before sending him a good night message. Even the 3 am texts had stopped. Worried was an understatement.

 

**Peter**

_ Please let me know you’re okay. _

 

He was looking at flights for the following day, weighing up the logistics of genuinely dropping everything to make sure his friend was okay, when his phone buzzed causing his heart to skip a beat before thundering back to life.

 

**Sonny**

_ I’m fine _

 

Peter stared at the message, an unexpected rush of anger surging through him.

 

**Peter**

_ Couldn’t have said that five days ago? _

 

**Sonny**

_ Got caught up with a case. Sorry _

 

He took a deep breath, willing himself to let go of the anger, let go of the fear, and focus on the fact that Sonny was talking to him now, that he was okay, at least in a physical sense, if nothing else.

 

**Peter**

_ Wanna talk about it? _

 

Peter was sure Sonny wasn’t going to respond. He stared at his phone for a good five minutes before slamming his laptop shut, flights to NYC still up on the screen, and discarded it beside him on his bed.

 

Something felt off. Ever since this thing between them started -- and Peter kept referring to it as a thing, he had to, because the word ‘friendship’ just didn’t seem to cover it even if that’s all it really was -- Sonny had always responded, even if it was just to let Peter know he was busy. And he never went a night without falling asleep on the phone together, whether it took hours of talking, or just a few moments of Peter rambling about his day.

 

He found that, despite how much his he longed to help Sonny, his heart also ached with the thought that if Sonny didn’t need him anymore, he wouldn’t want him, either. So it had become easy to pretend that everything was fine. It had become easy to forget that Sonny nearly died, and instead of dealing with it he’d bottled it up and locked it away, told the world he was fine and relived it time and time again in his dreams. Sonny had assured him the dreams had got better, but the 3 am text messages told Peter they were still happening, even if they weren’t every night now.

 

The thought that this was Sonny coping better and letting him go crossed his mind, and he felt his stomach churn and his eyes sting with an unexpected flash of emotion.

 

He rubbed his eyes before squeezing them shut, trying to give in to the exhaustion that had been clinging to him for months, when his phone vibrated beside him, causing him to jump. He glanced at Sonny’s smiling face lighting up his phone screen, wiping his eyes on his sleeves before answering the call.

 

He took a moment to take in the look of Sonny, pale and drawn, but undeniably alive and smiling at him through the phone, just a little. His stomach flipped with a renewed need to touch, to be close.

 

“Hey,” he said quietly, clearing his throat when the word barely came out.

 

“Hey. You okay?” Sonny asked, frowning a little.

 

“Tired,” he said with a small laugh, propping himself up a little so he could hold the phone at a better angle. “You?”

 

“Yeah,” Sonny breathed out, smiling a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

 

“I missed you.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he inwardly cringed.

 

“Yeah,” Sonny repeated noncommittally.

 

They sat in silence for a moment, and Peter studied the lines on Sonny’s face. He looked more tired, more drawn, and more pale than Peter had ever seen him before. His eyes looked dull and so far away, and Peter felt his chest tighten.

 

“You sure you’re okay?” He asked softly, resting his head back against the headboard.

 

“Yeah, just tired,” Sonny said with a shrug and another small, barely-there smile. “I should probably go, actually, seeing as we’re both pretty wiped.”

 

“Stay,” Peter said quickly, not even bothering to feel ashamed at how desperate he sounded. “Talk to me for a bit. Tell me about the case.”

 

“Nah,” Sonny said with a dry laugh. “Just your standard rape case, nothing special.”

 

Peter winced at the choice of wording, but if Sonny noticed he didn’t comment. He wanted to say, ‘let me tell you about my day’, he wanted to say, ‘tell me about Bella and your niece’, he wanted to say, ‘fall asleep with me’, he wanted to say, ‘please, like we have been.’

 

Instead, he said, “Well, if that’s all…”

 

Sonny sighed on the other end of the phone, rubbing his face. “I don’t know…”

 

“Don’t know what?” Peter prompted after a beat of silence.

 

“Nothing,” Sonny said, letting his head fall back against the wall. “Doesn’t matter.”

 

Peter felt his eyes prickle with tears again. Maybe he was over tired, and maybe he was investing far too much of himself into something that had been doomed from the start. Maybe he should be moving this back to friendship territory, back to the occasional text and promises to catch up that never actually eventuate. Maybe he should allow them to slowly drift back to the way things had been before he visited New York four months ago, back to the occasional Facebook comment and nothing more. But it didn’t feel right.

 

The distance between them over the past week was driving Peter mad, and he was sure something else was going on. The life seemed to have left Sonny completely. He’d thought hearing from him would ease his worry, but instead, it had intensified.

 

In Peter’s experience, Sonny had never been great at asking for help, or opening up about what was bothering him. But he had always let Peter be there. He had always let Peter hold him, talk to him, distract him, do whatever it took to make them both feel better. This silence, this lack of connection, doused everything else with a sense of doom.

 

“It matters to me,” Peter offered with a weak smile, vision blurring a little with tears he was sure wouldn’t be there if he’d had a decent night sleep in the past few months.

 

“Yeah,” Sonny said with a small laugh, casting his eyes downward, away from the camera. “You’re a good person, Peter.”

 

He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “You are too,” he whispered.

 

“Goodnight,” Sonny said quietly, disconnecting the call before Peter could say anything else.

 

He dropped his phone on his nightstand before rubbing his eyes, a soft sigh escaping past his lips.

 

Tomorrow, he would go in to work and organize a week off to go visit Sonny. He couldn’t be sure he was overreacting or not until he saw the man in person, but either way, he knew he would feel better for doing it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed the rating to mature for this chapter, just to be safe. Tags have been updated accordingly.
> 
> There is one homophobic slur used in regards to themselves in this chapter. In regards to fear.
> 
> This chapter lines up with the corrective rape case in 18x19.
> 
> Thanks as always to tobeconspicuous for acting as beta

The way Sonny’s face lit up, eyes sparkling even through the small display on his phone screen when Peter called to say he would be in New York in just under two weeks was enough to make the whole thing worth it on its own. Whatever tension there had been between them last time they spoke dissipated instantly. His stomach fluttered with anticipation and he felt a sense of relief set in, knowing Sonny would be happy to see him and didn’t just need him as a distraction.

 

He desperately wanted Sonny to offer to have him stay. He knew he could ask, knew Sonny would say yes, but each time he opened his mouth the words fizzled out on his tongue and his stomach rolled with nerves.

 

The moment he stepped off the plane those nerves returned in full-force. He wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from Sonny. He knew things had changed between them, shifted into entirely uncharted territory. Eventually, they would have to talk about it, and the thought made his stomach churn. He wanted this to be more, wanted it to mean something, but he was still terrified he was just a means to an end, someone who was in the right place at the right time and filled a hole in Sonny’s life right when he needed it.

 

Still, when his eyes locked on Sonny’s as he walked through the terminal and he watched Sonny’s pale, tired face light up, his heart swelled. To be looked at like that...he couldn’t think of anything better.

 

“Hey,” he muttered, winding his free arm around Sonny in an awkward hug.

 

He’d been expecting a pat on the back and an offer to carry his bag. What he hadn’t been expecting was for Sonny to grip him tight and draw him close, his body sagging against Peter’s as though he could barely hold himself up suddenly. As Sonny pressed his face into the crook of Peter’s neck, he dropped his bag so he could hug back in earnest.

 

His heart clenched at the desperate way Sonny tried to draw him closer. The way he clung on as though his life depended on it.

 

“Hey,” Peter whispered again, rubbing his hand up and down Sonny’s back. “I got you.”

 

“‘M sorry,” Sonny murmured against Peter’s neck before pulling back, eyes a little wet and smile a little shaky. “I didn’t realize just how much I wanted to see you until you were actually in front of me.”

 

Peter smiled, cupping Sonny’s jaw briefly before lowering his hand to his shoulder.

 

“Let’s drop your things off and go get a drink,” Sonny said with a shaky laugh, reaching down to pick Peter’s bag up.

 

Their conversation flowed like normal, with the added bonus of being able to brush knees, bump shoulders, touch hands. As the drinks kept coming Peter found himself leaning more and more into Sonny’s space, touching more, teasing more. A voice in the back of his head told him he should hold back, that he didn’t know what Sonny wanted, and that the way to find out was not through an alcohol-induced kiss.

 

Sonny seemed to be matching his drinks two to one. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the way Sonny leaned on him. The way he reached for his hand, or the way he rested his head on Peter’s shoulder, muttering something about the world spinning. But he’d also be lying if he said it didn’t make him uncomfortable, either.

 

Peter nudged Sonny’s head up so he could guide them out of their booth, whispering a soft, “Let’s get you home.”

 

“It’s easier drunk,” Sonny muttered, lips brushing against Peter’s neck as he held him up.

 

“What is?”

 

“Life. Everything.”

 

Peter felt his chest tighten a little as he glanced down at the top of Sonny’s head. “Come on,” he breathed out, nudging Sonny along, though he was supporting most of his weight by now.

 

Sonny leaned towards him in the back of the cab, too, head resting on Peter’s shoulder the entire ride, mumbling things that Peter honestly couldn’t understand, though he tried. He listened to every word, trying to piece together the nonsense.

 

“You’re wonderful,” Sonny whispered once they got inside his apartment. “Perfect.”

 

Peter laughed, a fondness blooming in his chest at the smile Sonny gave him as he removed his coat.

 

He lingered by the door as Sonny got undressed, telling himself he was only there to make sure he didn’t fall, and nothing more.

 

“Stay,” Sonny murmured just as Peter had turned to leave.

 

He whipped back around to look at Sonny, stomach flipping at the pleading look on his face.

 

“Please,” Sonny added, pulling the covers back.

 

The minute Peter was settled in bed, Sonny scooted over, closing the distance between them. He pillowed his head on Peter’s chest, draping his arm across his stomach as he pressed a kiss to his collarbone.

 

“I love you,” Sonny whispered after what felt like an entirety of silence.

 

Peter froze, his heart hammering wildly against his ribcage as he tried to get a look at Sonny’s face. But Sonny had fallen asleep, breath evening out as he became a dead weight against him.

 

“I love you too,” he whispered into Sonny’s hair, sweeping it back to press a light kiss to his forehead. “I love you too.”

 

\--

 

It felt like he’d barely been asleep when Sonny jolted against him, shifting a little before pushing away to slide off the bed. Peter frowned, rubbing his eyes in confusion before his stomach lurched at the sound of Sonny heaving in the bathroom. He was there in seconds.

 

“Don’t turn the light on,” Sonny choked out before heaving again.

 

He hesitated, unsure if he should stay or go, but the sob that tore its way from Sonny’s chest decided for him, and before he’d even consciously made a choice he was kneeling on the tiles behind Sonny, rubbing his back as he heaved again.

 

“Can’t hold my alcohol as well as I used to,” Sonny muttered with a sorry attempt at a laugh, pushing himself back from the toilet bowl with shaking arms.

 

Peter couldn’t help himself. He drew Sonny close, running his fingers through his hair. He could feel Sonny trembling against him, could feel his throat bob against his arm as he tried to hold back tears, and his heart broke a little at the fact that this was still happening.

 

“Is it still the same dream?” He whispered.

 

Sonny shrugged a little, clearing his throat as he rubbed his hands over his face, pulling out of Peter’s grip.

 

“It’s nothing,” he said quietly, voice quivering. “I just had too much to drink.”

 

Peter nodded, standing slowly as Sonny scrubbed his face, peering at himself in the mirror, though he wouldn’t be able to see much with only the light from the bedroom filtering in.

 

“I’m gonna go to work,” Sonny said quietly, voice rough as he headed for the bedroom. “You can stay if you want.”

 

Peter glanced at the clock. 4:18. They’d slept for maybe four hours if that. Something was off. Something different to usual.

 

“Come back to bed,” Peter tried softly, but Sonny didn’t even look at him as he began rummaging through his closet.

 

Peter swallowed against the lump forming in his throat at the sudden shift in Sonny’s demeanor. He had no idea what he’d done to upset Sonny, but the room was suddenly thick with tension. The silence hung heavy between them as Sonny picked out his suit for the day, back to Peter the entire time.

 

"Sonny, wha--"

 

“You can see yourself out when you’re ready,” Sonny muttered as he headed back to the bathroom.

 

Peter's heart sunk at that, but he gathered his things, not wanting to be here when Sonny returned, just in case it made things worse. He felt ill as he stepped onto the sidewalk to wait for his uber. He didn't understand what had changed.

 

\--

 

It wasn’t until the night before he was set to fly back to Chicago that Peter’s phone lit up with Sonny’s name, beaming smile staring up at him. He’d tried countless times over the week to organize dinner, or drinks, or to just check in, but it had been radio silence. He contemplated trying Sonny’s apartment, but he was worried he had done something wrong, worried that would be over-stepping some kind of boundary.

 

Sonny muttering, “I love you,” played on repeat in his head, only now it didn’t fill him with warmth. Now it made him feel sick; with guilt, with dread, with fear, with sadness. He shouldn’t have stayed with Sonny that night.

 

His heartbeat stuttered as he stared down at Sonny’s face, finger hovering above the accept button. It was all he’d wanted for the entire week, and now he was terrified to find out what Sonny had to say. His fingers shook as he accepted the call.

 

He could hear the buzz of noise through the phone, glasses clinking, people laughing. Sonny was in a bar. Again.

 

“Hello?” He asked, clearing his throat a little when the greeting barely came out.

 

“Peter,” Sonny started, pausing long enough for Peter’s heart to go into overdrive. “Come have a drink with me.”

  
“Oh, you’ve stopped avoiding me?” Peter didn’t mean to sound accusatory, but he couldn’t stop the hurt from winning out.

  
“I haven’t--“

  
“Don’t lie to me,” he cut Sonny off. “I deserve better than that”

  
There was a beat of uncomfortable silence between them before Peter deflated with a sigh. “Text me the address.”

 

The cab ride to the bar felt like it took forever, and yet not long enough. He wasn’t sure which Sonny he was going to find sitting in that bar waiting for him. While he loved every part of Sonny, the uncertainty after a week of silence had his stomach in knots.

 

He spotted Sonny easily, sitting at the bar on his own, drink in front of him. He watched from the doorway as Sonny picked at the label while flicking through his phone, before eventually making his way over to his favorite detective.

 

Sonny looked up at Peter as he slid onto the stool beside him, not bothering to remove his coat. The smile Sonny offered was small, and weak, but so genuine that Peter couldn’t help but smile back. The smallest flicker of hope ignited in his chest that maybe he hadn’t done anything wrong, maybe Sonny had just been busy battling a tough case.

 

That flicker of hope died as soon as Sonny lifted the bottle to his mouth, hand trembling slightly as he took a sip.

  
“How about I take you home?” He suggested, moving to stand again.

  
Sonny placed a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m not drunk.”

  
“That’s the point,” Peter said with a sigh, relaxing back into the stool. “I’d rather you be sober.”

  
Sonny breathed out, long and slow, before offering Peter a small shrug, though he made no indication he would be moving any time soon. “I just needed some liquid courage.”

  
Peter leaned in a little closer, confusion clouding his head for a moment. “What?”

 

“I needed liquid courage,” Sonny repeated, facing dead ahead, avoiding Peter’s gaze. “Because you’re going home tomorrow and if I don’t say it now I never will.”

 

The earnest look Sonny gave him as he slowly turned was the first hopeful thing Peter had seen from him since before that night in January, and his stomach fluttered with nerves and hope and a little apprehension, too.

 

Peter swallowed, wishing he’d bothered to order a drink so he had something to ease the sudden dryness in his throat. “Say what?”

  
“That I love you,” Sonny whispered, forehead creasing as his lips turned downward. “That I’ve loved you since I was eighteen years old. That it broke my heart when you told me you were gonna play professional baseball because I knew I’d hardly see you anymore.”

 

Peter opened his mouth to speak, but Sonny kept talking.

 

“I thought maybe I put you off, maybe you knew and you didn’t want a...a fag for a friend. And I hated myself for it then.” Peter could see the unshed tears glistening in Sonny’s eyes. “I don’t know. I’ve...I think I’ve made peace with it.”

 

Sonny took a deep, steadying breath before taking a sip of his drink, grimacing a little.

 

“This case...It made it hard again, for a moment. Reminded me that religion and homosexuality don’t go well together. But you’ve--”

  
“Sonny--“

 

“Let me finish,” Sonny whispered, ignoring Peter's interruption as he flashed him a small, hesitant smile. “You’ve always had a piece of my heart. And then...” he swallowed, eyes darting away. When he started talking again there was a tremor in his voice. 

 

“Then I had a gun to my head, and I thought I was gonna die. And you were there. And you were so affected. And you’ve been there, this whole time. And I don’t wanna do that to you anymore.”

 

“Sonny, you’re not--“ Peter tried, heart beating painfully in his chest, but Sonny cut him off again.

  
“I love you. And maybe I’ve misread this, maybe you’re just being a good friend. But I have to tell you. To your face. Before you go back to Chicago. Just in case--“

  
Peter cut him off by leaning in to kiss him, chaste and soft. He lingered for a bit, lips brushing Sonny’s as the reality of what he just did set in, before sitting back in his chair, smiling at the stunned expression on Sonny’s face.

 

“If you’d let me get a word in...” Peter said quietly, teasing lilt to his tone, though his stomach fluttered with uncertainty, still, after everything Sonny said.

  
The longer Sonny stared the more Peter began to worry he’d overstepped, he’d moved too soon, he should have listened to the rest of what Sonny had to say. He felt his smile slip a little, the feeling of it on his face growing more and more forced by the second at the worry that everything Sonny was saying was to be concluded with a ‘but’.

 

But then Sonny grinned at him, a proper grin, his dimples as deep as ever. After the emptiness that had clung to Sonny over the past few months, that grin seemed to be the most beautiful thing in the world.

 

“I never wanted to leave you behind,” Peter admitted quietly, reaching forward to take a sip of Sonny’s drink. “You stopped talking to me. I thought...I thought maybe I’d been too obvious and you didn’t want to be associated with someone like me.”

  
”Someone like...?” Sonny tilted his head a little.

 

“Gay,” he said bluntly, shifting his gaze from Sonny’s.

  
“Oh.”

  
“Yeah,” Peter said with a small laugh, shaking his head.

  
“Shit.”

  
Peter shrugged, glancing sideways at Sonny. “I guess I was scared.”

  
“I guess I was too.” Sonny sounded small, but he was smiling, and Peter couldn’t help but smile back. Sonny reached forward, threading their fingers together. “What happens now?”

  
Peter looked down at their hands, a warmth spreading through him directly from their point of contact. He rubbed his thumb over Sonny’s hand, the realization that, through all of this potential with Sonny, all of the ‘what if’s’ and ‘maybe’s’, all of the guilt and fear surrounding his feelings for Sonny, he had never once considered what would happen if Sonny actually felt the same.

  
“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly.

  
“I can’t lose you again,” Sonny whispered, voice strained as he gave Peter’s hand a small squeeze.

  
“You won’t,” Peter assured, gripping Sonny’s hand in both of his. “You have me. I just...my life is in Chicago.”

  
“I’m not asking you to move.”

  
Peter blinked at him, momentarily surprised. “You’re not?”

 

“Just...Don’t let go of this. Please.” Sonny’s eyes were wide and pleading, like he actually believed Peter could walk away from him again, after everything.

  
“Sonny, letting you go was my biggest regret,” he said softly, reaching up to brush Sonny’s cheek lightly. “I’m not gonna do that again.”

 

He pressed his lips to Sonny’s again, breathing him in as his eyes fluttered shut. When Sonny’s tongue darted out to seek access, Peter couldn’t hold back the breathy little moan that escaped at the promise of what was to come.

 

The minute they were through the front door, Sonny had his lips on Peter, discarding clothes as he backed them to the bedroom.

 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Peter muttered against Sonny’s lips, fingers hesitating on Sonny’s buttons. “Are you...are you sure about--”

 

“Shut up,” Sonny hissed, leaving an open, wet kiss on Peter’s neck. “I’ve wanted you since I was 18. I wanna...I wanna see you.”

 

Sonny took a deep breath in before taking a step back. Peter felt his face grow hot as he stepped out of his pants. He watched as Sonny’s eyes raked over his entire body. He’d never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, yet somehow he didn’t mind.

 

“God, you’re beautiful,” Sonny whispered, pupils blown wide.

 

Peter swallowed before closing the distance between them. Slowly, he undid the buttons of Sonny’s shirt, fingertips grazing the cool, pale skin beneath. Every time he made contact he could feel Sonny’s muscles tighten beneath his fingers.

 

With Sonny’s shirt discarded, Peter lowered him to the bed, hovering above him, taking him in. He looked so beautiful, bathed in the light filtering in from the street. His eyes seemed to glisten as he propped himself up, a small smile on his face.

 

Peter gently pressed a kiss to Sonny’s chest, over his heart, fully aware of the fact that they were both lucky Sonny’s heart was still beating. When he looked up he noticed Sonny’s expression had gone soft, his smile just a little sad, and he felt a flash of guilt.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, pressing a small kiss to Sonny’s lips.

 

Sonny shook his head, cupping the back of Peter’s head, thumb brushing lightly across his cheek. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

 

Peter gave a small nod before pressing their lips together again, this time more pointed. His lips parted, a small moan slipping past as Sonny pressed their hips together. He reached down between them, undoing the button on Sonny’s slacks before breaking from the kiss.

 

He left a gentle trail of kisses down Sonny’s chest and stomach, right down to the top of his pants, before easing them over Sonny’s hips and down his legs, continuing his trail right to Sonny’s ankles.

 

Sonny reached down, pulling Peter back up towards him, and when their lips met this time, the kiss was hungrier, more desperate. He could feel Sonny’s hands sliding over his back, down his sides, into his hair.

 

They took their time exploring each other's bodies, showing each other how much they loved the other. Everything they’d ever felt for one another, every bit of love and fear, every memory shared, every moment, not only over the past five months but throughout their entire life was laid on the table. 

 

They were both raw, and exposed, for the first time in their lives, and to Peter, it felt perfect. To Peter, it meant everything. He’d never imagined he could be like this with someone, be so open and earnest, but here he was, with Sonny Carisi in his arms, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

 

He’d never had sex this emotional, but as they moved in time with one another, all he could think of was how beautiful he was, how important this felt. Sonny’s desperate, breathy moans were an echo of Peter’s own, the way he clawed at Peter’s back, mouthed at his neck, breath ghosting across skin, a mirror of his own actions. They were perfectly in sync, perfectly aligned, right through to the end.

 

Once Peter had cleaned them both off, he slid under the covers behind Sonny and pulled him close, right up against his chest, tangling their legs together.

  
  


\--

 

When Peter woke up he could feel eyes on him. He could feel himself smiling before he was fully aware of it as he rolled over to look at Sonny. He wanted to comment on the fact that Sonny didn’t wake in the night, wanted to revel in how good it felt to wake up next to him knowing where they stood with each other and not having it tainted by the heavy darkness that had hung over them for months. But the look on Sonny’s face was sad and distant, even as he smiled, even as he leaned in to kiss Peter gently.

 

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked, lacing his fingers with Sonny’s.

 

Sonny’s lips pulled into a tight line as he rested their foreheads together, looking down at their hands. “You leave in a couple of hours.”

 

Peter's heart stuttered, his grip on Sonny’s hand tightening a little. He’d almost forgotten in the bliss of waking up next to a well-rested Sonny the morning after. He had to leave this behind and return to his lonely bed in Chicago.

 

Peter felt as though he were moving through a heavy fog for the rest of the morning. They showered together, they made breakfast together, and they ate together, limbs tangled on the lounge, entirely silent.

 

He didn’t know what to say. There were no words to make this hurt less, no words to remove even part of the sting. It felt as though they had just found each other, just aligned, and it was over before it even started.

 

Peter could feel his throat growing tight and his eyes prickling with tears as they arrived at the airport. He held his bag in one hand and Sonny’s hand in the other. He smiled, he gave Sonny’s hand a reassuring squeeze, he did everything he could think of to show Sonny it was going to be okay, but he didn’t dare speak. 

 

But then he looked at Sonny, really looked at him, as they reached check-in, and his heart broke at how lost he looked. His eyes were wet and wide. He honestly looked ready to run, and it made Peter’s heart ache.

 

“Hey,” Peter said softly, smiling at him even though his own tears threatened to fall. “I’ll call you.”

  
Sonny sniffed, casting his eyes downward. “It’s not the same.”

  
“I know, but--“

  
“I’m better with you.” Sonny’s voice was rising in pitch, though he tried to keep to a whisper to hide it.

  
“What?” Peter asked, cupping Sonny’s cheek. “No, you’re--“

  
“Last night was the first time in...in months that I haven’t woken up in the middle of the night with the taste of blood in my mouth.” Sonny’s hand came up to cover Peter’s.

 

Peter felt his stomach twist and his heart clench. He wanted to stay, he wanted to be there for Sonny every night, do whatever he could to make things better. He was on the verge of saying all that when Sonny spoke again.

 

“I don’t want you to stay because of that,” he says, voice wavering as a tear slipped down his cheek. “I can’t just rely on you. You don’t deserve that.”

 

Peter opened his mouth to object, but Sonny grabbed hold of him, pulling him into a fierce hug. As Peter’s arms wrapped around Sonny, pulling him impossibly close, it took all his strength not to cry.

 

“We’ll work something out,” He muttered, pressing a kiss into Sonny’s hair

  
Sonny took a deep breath in, releasing it before letting Peter go with a small nod.

  
“Please consider seeing a therapist,” Peter said softly, gripping Sonny’s shoulder. “It’ll help.”

  
Sonny nodded again, not meeting Peter’s gaze as his eyes filled with tears.

  
Peter swallowed, giving Sonny’s shoulder a firm squeeze before picking his bag up off the ground. “Please. For me.”

  
Slowly, Sonny lifted his gaze, meeting Peter’s eyes with his own, a hint of a smile ghosting over his lips. “Okay,” he croaked out.

 

Peter tried to smile, though he wasn’t sure how successful he was. He leaned in for one last kiss, running his hands through Sonny’s hair as their lips touched. As he took a step back, breaking the contact, he felt as though he were letting go of perfection.

  
“I’ll see you soon.” Peter could hear how strained his voice sounded.

  
Walking through check-in felt like the hardest thing in the world. He ached to turn around, to look back, but he knew if he did he would never be able to leave. Once he’d made it to the other side, boarding pass in hand, he turned to offer Sonny a fleeting smile. Even across the distance between them, he could see the tears glistening on Sonny’s face.

 

He took a deep breath and turned, heading deeper into the airport towards his terminal, his heart lodged in his throat. 

 

It felt like they’d just made progress and he was walking away from it. But he also knew Sonny couldn’t just depend on him, and he couldn’t drop his life for something that had only just started. But logic and the heart didn’t always go together.

 

His heart remained heavy and his eyes continued to sting with unshed tears for the entire trip back to Chicago.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My only regret is that I don't mention Pamela more. But all the times I tried to include her felt awkward and forced, so it is what it is. I don't get the impression Peter really KNOWS his sister, anyway. He's got a big heart, and he cares about her, and he wants to do right by her, but he doesn't KNOW her, and at this point, I think it's all still a bit awkward and new and uncertain.
> 
> Anyway, thanks as always to my beautiful beta, tobeconspicuous :)

Peter had honestly never thought it could hurt so much to be away from someone. He’d never been the type to need someone in his life. He loved living alone, being alone, having time to himself outside of work. But now all he wanted was to come home to Sonny, or have Sonny come home to him. He wanted morning kisses and cuddles on the lounge and a warm body pressed against his through the night.

 

He wanted all of the best things a relationship could offer, even though he knew it came with all of the worst things too. Because even when things were hard, even when they were hurting, he loved Sonny more than anything else. It terrified and thrilled him all at once, how fast he’d fallen once he’d truly allowed himself.

 

He didn’t have to feel guilty, or worry, or over-think anymore. He loved Sonny, and Sonny loved him, and that was all that seemed to matter anymore.

 

Except it wasn’t all that mattered.

 

They both had jobs that kept them busy, meaning they couldn’t take the time to visit each other. They both had unpredictable schedules, which made it hard to speak to each other every night. They both had a duty to their jobs, to the people whose lives their jobs improved, to be present, to do the best that they could. But Peter always made an effort to be available, day or night, to talk to Sonny, even if it was just for a moment, as he fell asleep. He felt he owed that to him, after everything, and it helped him rest easy, too, knowing Sonny was okay.

 

Peter had never thought he would find distance hard before, but every time he went longer than a day without seeing Sonny’s smile through his phone, hearing Sonny’s voice telling him he missed him, it felt like he was fighting an unwinnable battle.

 

They never said ‘I love you’. Peter wasn’t sure why. It always seemed to be ‘I miss you’, and to Peter, that kind of meant the same thing. It meant more. It meant, ‘I love you, I love you so much that it hurts to not be with you.’ It meant, ‘I think about you all the time.’ It meant, ‘I need you.’

 

There were times when things weren’t great, too. There were times where they fought, because they were tired, because they were lonely, because their jobs were draining. But they never went to bed angry, and though it was hard to tell, having never lived together, never spent more than a couple of days together at a time, Peter thought that had to mean something.

 

There were still so many times Sonny struggled, so many times Peter wished he could physically hold him when he knew things weren’t fine. But true to his word, Sonny started seeing a therapist, and things steadily improved.

 

He was less snappy, less irritable. He socialized with his colleagues more, made sure to see his family more. His smile was brighter, his voice lighter, and even though things weren’t perfect all of the time, they were getting better. It was only after a late night at the office when Peter’s phone had died, and he’d worried when he’d noticed Sonny’s missed calls, that Sonny had admitted he didn’t need the sound of Peter’s voice to fall asleep anymore. He simply preferred it, out of habit, because he missed him.

 

It was late January when Peter got the call to say his father had passed away.

 

He sat there willing himself to feel something, anything, but he just felt blank. The thought that he should call Sonny entered his mind, but he brushed it away. He wasn’t in the mood for conversation.

 

It was almost three hours later, just past six, when his phone buzzed beside him, causing him to jump. He looked down at Sonny’s face beaming up at him and rejected the call, ice settling in the bottom of his stomach. A moment later his phone buzzed again.

 

**Sonny**

_Hey let me know when you're off work. I’d like to hear your voice_

 

Peter let out a long sigh, sitting back in his chair. For the first time in the past year, Peter didn’t want to hear Sonny’s voice. He didn’t want to hear anyone’s voice. He wanted to eat crappy take-out, have a hot shower, and curl up in bed.

 

He returned his focus to the papers he had been reading over, the papers he had made almost no progress on in the past few hours. He rubbed at his temples, letting out a frustrated groan at the headache that was forming.

 

The buzz of his phone on the desk made him wince, and he glanced down at it.

 

**Sonny**

_I have the best story for you. Amanda was ta…_

 

Peter tapped his fingers against the wood of his desk, irritation growing at both his need to see the message and his need for Sonny to tell him the story. He felt a stab of guilt in his stomach, burning through the ice, at that thought. He’d never turned Sonny away, never not wanted to hear one of his stories. No matter how ridiculous or un-funny it was he always loved to listen.

 

He tapped the message, opening it fully.

 

**Sonny**

_I have the best story for you. Amanda was taking Frannie for a walk and lemme just say it's gonna be better if I tell you over the phone just so I can see your face_

 

Peter took a deep, steadying breath in before hitting the facetime button. The moment he saw Sonny’s face smiling back at him, hair damp and loose across his forehead, he was sure he felt the first flood of real emotion that day.

 

“Hey,” Sonny said with a grin, leaning back on his lounge.

 

“Hey,” Peter said quietly, offering a smile. “Tell me your story, then.”

 

A small frown formed on Sonny’s face and he adjusted his position, sitting a little straighter. “You okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Peter responded, only realizing it was a lie once the answer was out.

 

“Okay…” Sonny trailed off, still frowning, face etched with worry. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right? Like, I know I’m dealing with PTSD or whatever, but you’re allowed to have problems too.”

 

He could tell Sonny was trying to make a joke, trying to lighten the mood, show him it was okay to discuss what was bothering him, but for some reason, the words got stuck in his throat. He licked his lips, blinking dumbly.

 

“Shit,” Sonny whispered, shuffling a little. “What happened?”

 

Peter shook his head, glancing down, away from the phone as he cleared his throat. “My, um...my dad died.”

 

“Shit, Peter, I’m so sorry,” Sonny whispered. Peter could hear more shuffling, but he didn’t look up. “I know it’d be stupid to ask if you’re okay, but--”

 

“I don’t feel anything,” he admitted, slowly lifting his gaze to look at Sonny again. “Nothing. Not a damn thing.”

 

“I think that’s normal,” Sonny said with a shrug, offering a smile.

 

“I think it’s incredibly fucked up,” Peter muttered before taking a deep, shaky breath in.

 

Sonny huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Nah, if my therapist has taught me anything, it’s that there’s no real ‘normal’ reaction to trauma or grief.”

 

“Oh, good, I’m glad she’s good for something.” Peter paused, stomach flipping at the sound of his own voice, cold and sarcastic. “Sorry. I’m sorry, that--”

 

“It’s okay,” Sonny said quietly, still smiling, still sweet as ever. “Do you want me to come visit? I’ll talk to the Lieu, say it’s a family matter.”

 

Peter shook his head. “No. I’ll be coming to New York for the funeral, I guess.”

 

“You guess?” Sonny asked, lips turning downward.

 

“We don’t really talk much, Dad and me.”

 

Sonny laughed, eyes lighting up. “You never saw eye to eye. I always liked him.”

 

“You didn’t know him.” Peter could feel the corners of his lips turning up. “He always liked you, though, too.”

 

“Did you tell him? About us?”

 

Peter shook his head. “He’d have been okay with it, I think. But as I said, we never talked much.”

 

Sonny nodded a little, face full of concern even though he was smiling. Peter felt the silence that fell over them should have been awkward, but it felt nice to just be heard and not be judged.

 

“Stay with me? When you come for the funeral?” Sonny asked quietly, like he was uncertain of Peter’s answer.

 

“Where else would I stay?” He asked with a laugh.

 

“I dunno,” Sonny shrugged. “With family.”

 

“It’s only my sister and me left,” Peter shrugged. “She’s not exactly in a position to be hosting anyone right now.”

 

Sonny laughed before covering his mouth, eyes going wide. “I didn’t mean to laugh at that, I’m sorry. I know she’s--”

 

“No,” Peter said with a small laugh of his own, shaking his head. “No, it’s fine.”

 

As they talked, Peter felt lighter. He let Sonny tell him stories about Amanda, about his sisters and their children. He let Sonny fill him up with nonsense, and slowly the blankness he’d felt was replaced by warmth, and happiness, and just a hint of sadness he was sure belonged to his father.

 

\--

 

As Peter wandered through the terminal he could feel his stomach fluttering, a sense of nervous excitement filling him up, followed by pangs of guilt. He knew he shouldn’t be excited to be here under the circumstances of his father’s death, but he couldn’t help it. Within the next couple of minutes he would get to touch Sonny again, hold him in his arms, and that meant everything.

 

When he spotted Sonny across the sea of people, he took a deep breath, affection filling him up. He took a moment to just watch the detective squint, eyes scanning the crowd while he searched for Peter’s face, glancing down at his phone every so often before whipping back up to search again.

 

**Peter**

_Look straight ahead._

 

Sonny’s brow furrowed in confusion as he glanced up from the message, trying to find him. As their eyes locked, Sonny seemed to shine, a grin encompassing his face as he started to move towards Peter.

 

He dropped his bag, arms held wide, and when Sonny grabbed hold of him, kissed him, held him tight, it felt right.

 

“I missed you,” he breathed out, squeezing Sonny a little tighter before letting him go.

 

“Yeah,” Sonny said with a smile, stooping to pick Peter’s bag up. “Wish you were here under better circumstances.”

 

Peter gave a small shrug, leaning into his friend -- his partner -- as Sonny’s arm came to rest around his shoulders while they walked. He hadn’t talked much about his father’s death. He felt like he had all of this frustration and sadness sitting there beneath the surface, but he didn’t know how to get it out, so he talked about anything other than that.

 

To his credit, Sonny never pushed, even though Peter could hear the concern in his voice, could see it behind his smile.

 

“It is what it is,” Peter said quietly, wrapping his arm around Sonny’s waist. “I’m happy I’m here, regardless.”

 

That night they made love for the first time in six months. As Sonny’s hands gripped him, lips roaming his body, tasting every inch of him, it felt like something clicked into place. This was home, now. Sonny was his home.

 

\--

 

Peter could feel the detective watching him as they ate breakfast, a heavy silence hanging over them. He wondered if Sonny was expecting him to break, if he was expecting some show of emotion, but there was nothing to offer. Just a hole where he imagined an overwhelming sense of loss should be.

 

“Stop staring at me,” he grit out as he fiddled with his tie, back to Sonny while he looked in the mirror.

 

“Sorry,” Sonny whispered, toweling his hair off. “I just...are you okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Peter breathed out, turning to give Sonny a smile. “I’m fine. I promise.”

 

Sonny sighed, dropping the towel on the bed. “That’s kinda what I’m worried about.”

 

“What?” Peter asked, pulling his tie tight before turning to Sonny.

 

“You’re shutting me out,” Sonny said before quickly adding, “and it’s okay, I get it. It’s hard to talk about, but it’s okay to not be okay.”

 

“I know that,” Peter said with a small frown. “I’m fine.”

 

“You keep saying that, but your dad died, Peter, you--”

 

“I know.” He hadn’t meant to raise his voice, and the shocked look Sonny gave him felt like a punch to the gut. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s okay.” Sonny offered a small smile.

 

“Look, Dad and I weren’t close. We didn’t talk. I honestly don’t remember when I last spoke to him.” Peter breathed out heavily, sitting on the end of the bed, back to Sonny again. “I feel like I should feel something, but I don’t.”

 

He felt a hand settle on his shoulder, hesitating before squeezing tightly, and he turned, taking Sonny’s hand in his.

 

“It’s okay to not be upset, too.” Sonny smiled sadly.

 

Peter gave a small nod, giving Sonny’s hand a squeeze before letting go. “Get dressed, or we’ll be late.”

 

They spent the drive to the church in silence, but Sonny didn’t leave his side once. He guided Peter through introductions with various lawyers and NYPD officials who knew and respected his father. He felt that Pamela should be here. He was hit by a pang of unexpected sadness at the fact that she didn’t get to be here, didn’t get to pay her respects. She’d have been better at this. The Pamela from his childhood would have been exceptional.

 

Sonny kept a hand on his back as he shook hands, an anchor, a lifeline, while he drowned in unfamiliar faces spouting condolences for a loss they seemed to feel far more keenly than he did.

 

As he took his seat in the pew he was grateful for Sonny beside him, an unwavering presence. In a room full of people who seemed to love, adore and worship his father, he felt entirely out of place.

 

Listening to people talk about how generous, how kind, how _exceptional_ his father was, made him feel increasingly uncomfortable. Not because he didn’t believe the words, but because he felt like, for the first time, he was seeing his father the way he wished to be seen, and not as an absent figure in his life. It made his chest clench in a way he hadn’t expected.

 

When they stepped outside Peter was bombarded with handshakes once more. He forced a smile, said his thanks, accepted condolences, all with the feeling of lead in his stomach.

 

“That was...uncomfortable,” Peter said quietly once they were in the car, away from unwanted ears.

 

Sonny turned to look at him, offering a sympathetic smile. “It’s over now.”

 

“Mmm,” Peter hummed noncommittally.

 

Sonny reached over to take Peter’s hand in his as he started the car. He said nothing, but they held hands the entire way home, and once Peter stepped into Sonny’s apartment he felt like he was shedding his skin and leaving it behind.

 

“I love you,” he murmured, turning to pull Sonny close to him.

 

Sonny laughed, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth as he dumped his keys on the table behind him. “I love you, too.”

 

Peter took a deep breath in, pressing their foreheads together for a brief moment before pulling apart again.

 

“Action movies and popcorn?” Sonny suggested with a grin.

 

Peter sat down heavily on the lounge, removing his shoes so he could put his feet up. “Sounds perfect.”

 

“You know,” Sonny called out from the kitchen, rummaging in the cupboards, “I’ve never ever found someone who loves action movies as much as you do.”

 

“That a good thing?” He asked with a small laugh.

 

“Of course,” Sonny answered before coming around from the kitchen, two large bowls of popcorn in hand. “Wouldn’t be the same if I watched them with anyone else.”

 

“Oh yeah? What did you do without me?”

 

“Suffered,” Sonny deadpanned, curling up beside Peter before turning the TV on.

 

He pulled Peter into his arms so they were practically laying down together as Die Hard started.

 

“You like being a pillow?” Peter murmured, reaching out for a handful of popcorn.

 

“Not really,” Sonny faux-strained. “You’re really fucking heavy.”

 

Peter laughed, swatting him on the arm. “You’re the one who pulled me on top of you.”

 

Sonny smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of Peter’s hair before falling silent.

 

At some point, Peter must have fallen asleep. When he opened his eyes he could hear Sonny murmuring, stomach jostling Peter’s head as he spoke. It was dark outside, and an entirely different movie was paused on the TV screen.

 

“Yeah, I’ll meet you there, ‘Manda,” Sonny said softly, disconnecting the call before looking down at Peter. “Hey, sorry, did I wake you?”

 

Peter shrugged, not entirely sure, as he sat up. “Work?”

 

“Yeah.” Sonny sighed. “I’m really sorry. I wanted to be here for you, but--”

 

“It’s fine. I’m okay.”

 

“So you keep saying,” Sonny said softly, giving Peter’s hand a small squeeze before getting up off the lounge.

 

“Go save the world,” Peter murmured, pulling Sonny towards him again so he could press a kiss to his stomach.

 

Sonny chuckled, running his fingers through Peter’s hair before kissing him on the top of the head. “I’ll try and make it quick.”

 

The silence in the apartment without Sonny felt oppressive and lonely, and his thoughts kept circling back to the funeral, to all the kind things people had said, to the stories they told, to all the things Peter suddenly felt like maybe he’d been missing out on.

 

He had tried to stay awake until Sonny got home, but when he received a text at two in the morning telling him to sleep, that he wouldn’t be home for hours, Peter gave in to the exhaustion tugging at him.

 

When he woke to a cold bed with no sign that Sonny had been home at all, he felt instantly lonely, like he was drowning in it. He sighed, long and slow, before reaching over to grab his phone from the nightstand.

 

**Sonny**

_03:07 Sorry babe, we’ve got a big case. I’ll keep you updated. I hope you’re okay._

 

_06:24 Help yourself to whatever you want from my kitchen. It goes without saying, but I’m just making sure._

 

_07:01 I’m sorry. I’m shit. This is shit. I wish I was with you._

 

_07:03 Just know I’d rather be with you than here._

 

Peter felt himself smile, just a little, as he read through Sonny’s messages.

 

**Peter**

_Come home. Get some rest._

 

**Sonny**

_I wish :( this case is gonna keep me here for a while._

 

Peter felt his heart sink a little at the thought of another night alone after finally being able to be together again. He knew that was selfish, knew Sonny had a job to do, a job that was important, a job that saved lives, but all he really wanted to do was close his eyes, breathe Sonny in, and forget about the world.

 

He still felt strangely blank in regards to his father’s death. There was a vague sense of sadness, a coldness that had clung to him ever since. It felt more like he felt he should be sad, rather than actually feeling sad. He couldn't quite wrap his mind around it.

 

One thing stood out in his mind from the funeral, and that was Jack McCoy’s words. He’d spoken well, filled the hole made by a lack of family, made by Peter’s own lack of desire to speak. He owed McCoy a thanks, if nothing else.

 

**Peter**

_That’s okay, I’ve got some errands to run. Will you be home tonight?_

 

**Sonny**

_I hope so. Keep you posted_

 

Peter sighed as he dragged himself out of bed to make himself presentable before he went to find McCoy.

 

\--

 

Peter cast his eyes up toward the beautiful, high ceiling of the courthouse, eyes darting across the painted figures before settling on Jack McCoy, right where his assistant said he would be, eating lunch.

 

He saw McCoy look up at him, confused for a moment before he smiled, just a little, eyebrow raised in question.

 

“I was just coming to say hi,” he said, fiddling with the insides of his pockets.

 

McCoy finished chewing his food before speaking. “My first wife made me promise never to eat at my desk. I thought it was good advice.” He paused, patting the bench beside him. “Sit.”

 

Peter felt his smile slip a little. “I just wanted to thank you for your kind words yesterday.”

 

“All of them true,” McCoy said with a shrug. “All of them heartfelt. Sit.”

 

Peter felt a stab of irrational jealousy in the pit of his stomach, that this man he knew mostly by reputation had known his father enough to give a heartfelt speech, whereas he hadn’t known him enough to feel comfortable saying anything at all.

 

He knew that was partly his own fault for blocking his father out a lot of the time, but the jealousy was still there. He held back a sigh as he took a seat. To say he felt uncomfortable would have been an understatement.

 

“Eat,” McCoy said, dangling a paper bag in front of him.

 

He held up a hand quickly. “I’m good.”

 

“This is still my jurisdiction,” McCoy said, hint of a smile on his face as he leaned in towards Peter, “and people do what I say or pay the price.”

 

He felt a vague flash of irritation and fondness meshed into one. He could see exactly why his father had admired Jack McCoy so much. But arrogance wasn’t Peter’s style. Still, he took the bag, taking the hotdog from within.

 

“It was a wonderful service,” McCoy continued. “Although I did think it was odd that none of your dad’s family member’s spoke.”

 

Peter felt a heaviness set in his chest, causing his heart to stutter for just a moment as the thought of Pamela flashed through his mind. “I’m the only family member left.”

 

“Res ipsa loquitur.”

 

Peter smiled briefly before swallowing, his stomach fluttering uncomfortably at the direction the conversation was headed. He felt a fresh surge of guilt, having his obvious distance from his father laid bare in front of someone who’d clearly thought highly of the man. He felt a need to justify himself, somehow, make himself not look like the terrible son he must seem.

 

“We didn’t speak that much when he was alive, so I figured, what good would it do now.” He looked away, taking a bite from his hotdog for something to do, though he’d rather lost his appetite.

 

“It must have been tough growing up with Saint Ben,” McCoy offered.

 

Peter’s stomach flipped once more. “A great man is not necessarily a good one.”

 

“Did you know,” McCoy started, turning to look at Peter again, “that he had everybody over at his place the first time you pitched?” Peter felt his heart sink as he turned to face McCoy. “I thought his heart stopped when that bastard ruined your no-hitter. I think he secretly became a Cubs fan.”

 

Peter laughed, an unexpected swell of emotion filling him up. “That’s treason.”

 

“That’s what I told him.” Peter laughed again. “He had the Chicago Law Journal delivered to his desk every day.”

 

Peter froze for a moment at that, the smile slipping from his face entirely as McCoy’s words sunk in. His father had kept an active interest in his life and never once reached out. He felt his throat grow tight as all the sadness and anger and regret and frustration he’d been holding onto for so long flooded to surface.

 

“He scoured it looking for your name.”

 

Peter huffed out a breath of humorless laughter, his eyes stinging suddenly. “I wish he would have said something.” He swallowed hard before standing up, turning to say goodbye to McCoy.

 

“There’s always a spot here for you, Peter,” McCoy said gently.

 

Peter nodded, taking a deep, steadying breath. “I appreciate that, but I’m only staying long enough to settle my dad’s affairs.” The words sounded blunt and forced, even to his on ears. The truth was, he wanted to stay. He wanted to be here for his sister now that she had no one, and he wanted to be here for Sonny, _with_ Sonny. He just didn’t want to stay because of a job he’d earned on his dad’s merit.

 

McCoy moved to stand up, giving a small shake of his head. “You give Mark Jeffries my best, and tell him we still have better hotdogs.”

 

When McCoy offered his hand, Peter couldn’t help but smile as he shook it. He didn’t trust his voice, wouldn’t know what to say even if he did, so he left it as that.

 

It was on a whim that he decided to wander down to the courtrooms. He couldn’t explain it, but he had a sudden need to feel close to his father, to stand where he’d stood, to see the world from his eyes, just once.

 

As he took in the sight of the Seal of New York behind the judge’s desk he felt his chest tighten, painfully aware of his own heartbeat. He took a seat and imagined his father sitting there, and for the first time he felt loss, so sudden and so overwhelming that he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.

 

He took a deep breath in an attempt to steady himself, but he could feel the burn in his eyes, the tightness in his throat, as his vision blurred over with tears. He covered his face, a sense of shame filling him up. His grief felt undeserved. He hadn’t made an effort to know his father, had let go of him so quickly and so readily. He felt the tears slip down his cheeks and he sucked in a sharp breath, trying to regain some control and compose himself.

 

His phone buzzed, causing him to jump a little as the minute sound seemed to reverberate around the large, empty room.

 

**Sonny**

_I’ll be home in about 30 mins. You still out? I can come pick you up if you need?_

 

Peter took another deep breath, swiping his hand over his face as he stared down at Sonny’s message. His fingers hovered over the keypad, but all he really wanted was Sonny’s voice. Not in 30 minutes. Now. He hit the call button before he could think twice about it.

 

“Hey,” Sonny answered after one ring, sounding tired. “Where are you?”

 

Peter opened his mouth to speak, but his breath hitched, the words catching in his throat, and he covered his mouth.

 

“Peter? You okay?”

 

“Yeah,” he breathed out shakily. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

 

He could hear the waver in his own voice, feel the words squeezing past the lump in his throat. His eyes burned with fresh tears, and he covered his face again, clutching the phone like it was his lifeline.

 

“Where are you?” Sonny sounded concerned, more concerned than Peter had ever heard, which only made his heart beat that little bit faster.

 

“Uh,” Peter cleared his throat. “At the courthouse.”

 

“I’m gonna come get you, okay?”

 

Peter nodded before remembering Sonny couldn’t see him. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

 

“Do you wanna stay on the phone until I get there?”

 

“Please,” Peter whispered.

 

Sonny took a moment to decide what to say, but soon he was on a roll, talking about a family holiday when he was a kid. Peter wasn’t entirely paying attention to the story. He let the words wash over him, calming him, allowing him to breathe again.

 

When Sonny arrived at the courthouse and met him at the entrance, Peter felt himself hesitating, wanting to take Sonny’s hand, to pull him close, to bury his face in his neck and breathe him in for just a moment, but he didn’t want to put them in an uncomfortable position so close to Sonny’s workplace.

 

But Sonny made the decision for him, wrapping his arms around Peter’s back as he pressed a kiss to his cheek.

 

“You wanna talk about it?” Sonny asked, breath ticking Peter’s hair.

 

Peter shook his head, taking a deep, shaky breath in as he gripped onto Sonny, holding him a little tighter than he normally would. “Let’s go home.”

 

The car ride was silent, but Sonny held his hand the entire time, and Peter was more grateful than he could ever put into words. When they got back to Sonny’s apartment, Peter dropped down on the lounge, sitting for a moment before he lay down, curling up on his side, head pillowed on the armrest.

 

Sonny followed him a moment later, shifting him so he could slide up behind him, spooning him. It should have been uncomfortable, given their size on a relatively small lounge, but it was the most comfortable Peter had felt all day.

 

Sonny brushed his hand across Peter’s forehead, running his fingers through his hair before pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Did something happen?”

 

Peter shook his head, closing his eyes as he let out a sigh. “I spoke to Jack McCoy.”

 

“And?” Sonny prompted, resting his head on Peter’s shoulder.

 

“And he told me--” Peter’s breath hitched and he shook his head again. “I wish I’d done things differently.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I just stopped talking to him. I blamed him for everything. I was an ass. I--”

 

“You were a kid,” Sonny cut him off, grabbing hold of his hand.

 

“I haven’t been a kid for ten years, Sonny.” Peter sighed, rolling over so he could look at Sonny. “I’m so...angry. I don’t...It just came. Out of nowhere.”

 

Sonny smiled sadly, huffing out a small laugh. “That’s grief, Peter.”

 

“I don’t deserve to grieve,” he snapped, covering his face with his free hand.

 

“Why not?” Sonny asked before pressing a kiss to the hand covering his face.

 

Peter shook his head again, letting out a frustrated groan. He could feel tears in his eyes again. “I don’t know.”

 

“Look at me?” Sonny asked.

 

Peter took a deep, shaky breath in before looking at Sonny, vision blurred slightly by tears.

 

“I love you,” Sonny whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to Peter’s lips.

 

He felt himself smile, despite all the other things he was feeling. “I love you.”

 

Sonny smiled, eyes shining a brilliant sapphire before he pressed another, deeper kiss to Peter’s lips.

 

“You have a right to feel whatever you’re feeling,” Sonny said quietly, lips still brushing Peter’s as he spoke. “Let yourself feel them. Trust me. It’s so much easier to process things when you let yourself feel instead of beating yourself up over the reasons why.”

 

Peter nodded, leaning up to capture Sonny’s lips with his own once more. He knew Sonny was right, but right now he’d rather push it aside. Right now, he’d rather lose himself in Sonny.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE thanks to tobeconspicuous for coming on this journey with me as beta and helping make this fic better in every way.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this nearly as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Peter frowned, squinting against the light coming through the window as something buzzed loudly beside his head. His phone.

 

He picked it up, breathing out a heavy sigh when he realized it was just past 8 am. So much for his ‘well-deserved sleep in’, as Sonny had put it when he’d got up three hours earlier for work.

 

“Stone,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

 

“Did I wake you?” McCoy sounded amused on the other end of the line. “I would think this is late for you.”

 

Peter grunted in response before catching himself. “Uh, taking a few days to catch up on sleep, I guess. What can I do for you?”

 

“Straight to business, as always,” McCoy mused. Peter could hear some rustling on the other end of the line. “I have a proposition for you.”

 

“A proposition?” Peter asked, frowning as he sat up a little.

 

“Or a favor, but it’s a good one.”

 

“Go on…” Peter encouraged, wary of what McCoy would say next.

 

“It seems one of my ADA’s is up on a murder charge.” McCoy’s voice had turned serious in an instant, and Peter felt the need to sit a little straighter even though he couldn’t be seen. “I would like you to prosecute.”

 

“Wh--” Peter cut himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m going back to Chicago in a couple of days, Mr. McCoy.”

 

“Jack,” McCoy corrected. “And you can extend your stay. Consider it paid for by the DA’s office.”

 

Peter huffed out a laugh. “You can afford that?” When McCoy didn’t respond, he sighed. “Why me?”

 

“I want someone impartial, someone who doesn’t know him. Mr Barba has made a name for himself here.” Peter felt like he’d been doused in ice water, dread settling heavy in the pit of his stomach. “People either can’t get enough of him, or they absolutely hate him. Usually the latter. Still, I’d rather someone not from my office.”

 

Peter swallowed, giving a small shake of his head. “I can’t--”

 

“Think about it,” McCoy interrupted.

 

“Why would he...murder? Really?” Peter couldn’t wrap his mind around it. He didn’t really know Barba. He’d only briefly met him at his father’s funeral, but from the way Sonny spoke about him, he absolutely didn’t seem the type to commit murder.

 

“It’s...complicated. A right to die case gone wrong, you could say,” McCoy explained, voice softening just slightly.

 

“I...erm…” Peter stumbled over his words, mind racing. He couldn’t take this case. He just couldn’t.

 

“Think of it as a reason to stick around,” McCoy said, sounding like he knew far more than he was letting on.

 

“I’ll think about it,” Peter agreed slowly, though he was already sure his answer would be no.

 

“Excellent. If you swing by my office my assistant will have the paperwork ready for you to look over.” McCoy sounded like he’d already won, causing Peter to let out a sigh.

 

“Sure. Thanks, McCoy.”

 

“Let me know by tomorrow,” McCoy said before hanging up.

 

Peter deposited his phone on the nightstand before slowly sliding back under the covers, pulling them right up to his chin. He didn’t want to deal with this. Not now. Not ever. But he felt like he owed McCoy after the efforts he went to in helping organize his father’s funeral.

 

\--

 

As soon as he heard the key in the front door, Peter paused the movie he was watching, turning to look at Sonny as he walked through the door.

 

“Hey,” Sonny said with a grin that faltered slightly when his eyes set on Peter properly.

 

“I need to talk to you,” he said quietly. When Sonny’s face dropped, Peter quickly shook his head. “No, no, not like that. You’ve done nothing wrong. I’m...I just need to talk to you about something.”

 

Sonny dumped his keys on the table before wandering over to the lounge, still looking wary. “What’s up?”

 

“I made dinner. There’s dinner in the fridge,” he said suddenly, averting his eyes. “You should eat first. It’s--”

 

“You didn’t have to cook for me,” Sonny said quietly.

 

Peter just shrugged, letting out a long sigh. He’d needed the distraction, but more than that, he’d needed to feel like he was making up for what he was about to discuss with Sonny, for what he was about to bring into their lives. Dinner didn’t cover it, but it was a start to something he couldn’t quite put into words.

 

Sonny reached out to take Peter’s hand, linking their fingers. “What’s happened?”

 

Peter picked up the folder he’d gone over five times already that day and handed it to Sonny. “Did you know about this?”

 

Sonny frowned, releasing Peter’s hand so he could flick through the paperwork. He watched the color drain from Sonny’s face the more he read, watched his lips pull downward and the lines on his forehead grow more pronounced.

 

“What the fuck?” Sonny breathed out, glancing at Peter. “Why would he--”

 

“He thought he was doing the right thing,” Peter said quickly.

 

“In what way--” Sonny broke off, taking a deep, shaky breath before closing the folder. “He wouldn’t do that.”

 

“So you honestly had no idea?”

 

Sonny’s head snapped up, a fierce look in his eyes as he handed the folder back. “You think I would be a part of this?”

 

Peter shook his head quickly, placing the folder back on the table before taking Sonny’s hand again. “No. I just...NYPD and the DA’s office both like to gossip. I assumed the word would be out.”

 

“You shouldn’t have shown me that,” Sonny said quietly before letting out a long sigh, burying his face in his hands.

 

Peter scoffed. “Why not? All the information in there is information you already know. Most of it’s your case notes. Which, by the way, are impressive. I wish my detectives were that organized.”

 

Sonny let out a small laugh, but there was no feeling behind it. They were silent for a while before Sonny looked up again, expression so full of hurt it made Peter’s heart clench.

 

“You’re prosecuting him, aren’t you?” Sonny asked, voice wavering just a little.

 

“No,” Peter said quickly, shaking his head. “No, not unless you’re 100% okay with it. McCoy asked, and I owe him a favor, but...not at the risk of losing you.”

 

Sonny’s lips quirked upward, a hint of a smile forming. “Don’t make career decisions based on me.”

 

“It’s not a career decision. It’s one favor. A favor I can turn down.” Peter took both of Sonny’s hands in his, crossing his legs so he could sit facing Sonny properly. “You just say the word and I won’t do it.”

 

“What if he goes to prison?” Sonny moved to match Peter’s position, giving his hands a small squeeze.

 

Peter shook his head. “I don’t want that. McCoy doesn’t either. But it’s not something that can just be ignored.”

 

“I just don’t understand...why the hell would he think that’s okay? Who made him God? What--”

 

“Shh,” Peter soothed, cutting Sonny off. “It wasn’t his choice to make, no. But having gone over the files...Sonny, it was mercy. It was--”

 

“Don’t defend him,” Sonny hissed, letting go of Peter’s hands as he moved to stand up. “Don’t you dare-- It-- No. No, you don’t get to sit there and tell me that what he did was right, or merciful, or in any way okay. It wasn’t up to him.”

 

Peter nodded, letting Sonny storm into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Even with his partner’s blessing he wasn’t sure he could do this. He wasn’t sure he could live with himself knowing he’d put Sonny’s mentor in prison, if it came to that.

 

He sighed, resting his chin in his hands as he stared at the folder sitting on the coffee table. The one reason he wanted to take this case, the one thing tugging at his mind, was that this kept him with Sonny for a while longer. But at what cost? He doubted it would be worth sticking around with this level of tension between them the entire time.

 

“I’m sorry.” Sonny’s voice startled him out of his thoughts.

 

He turned around, smiling a little at the sight of Sonny in sweatpants and an old t-shirt. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

 

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you,” he said softly. “It’s not your fault Barba’s got himself in trouble.”

 

Peter gave a small nod, his stomach twisting a little at the sadness on Sonny’s face.

 

“You should tell McCoy you’ll do it.” Sonny glanced down, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

 

“What?” Peter asked, voice a little louder than intended. “Why?”

 

“Because I trust you,” Sonny said softly, still not looking up, still standing at the edge of the room. “Because you’ll do what you think is right, and I trust what you think is right. Because you’re a good person.”

 

“Being a good person has little to do with me prosecuting your friend.”

 

“I know.” Sonny nodded. “But I also...I think maybe you’re right. That child...Machines were the only thing keeping it alive. I said Rafael was playing God, but...so were the parents, you know?”

 

When Sonny looked up, face uncertain, Peter nodded, offering a small smile. “It’s not black and white. And it’s okay to be angry at him.”

 

“So you’ll tell McCoy yes?”

 

Peter gave a small nod. “I’ll go see him tomorrow.”

 

\--

 

The trial was short, but painful. There was no party involved that came out unscathed. Sonny had refused to come, had refused to watch his boyfriend prosecute his mentor, his colleague, his friend. He’d worried that he’d made the wrong choice in taking the case, but when Sonny curled up against him at night, holding him close, he knew there was no bad blood between them. It was just hard on him.

 

It was hard on everyone. He could see the pain in Olivia Benson’s eyes when they met, when she showed up at the courthouse to support Barba. He could see the grief written all over the parents, clinging to them like tar, thick and black and unmoveable. He could see it in Barba as he took the stand, as he spoke about his choices. 

 

None of it felt right. There was no good outcome, no happy ending. Just grief and sadness clouding everything.

 

When the ‘not guilty’ verdict came back, a sense of relief filled him up, just for a moment, before he had to face the parents and apologize for not winning. He didn’t understand how anyone could come back from this.

 

When he went home that night Sonny had wine to celebrate, but it didn’t feel like a celebration. It was empty and heartless, and when they went to bed that night Peter clung to Sonny like his life depended on it.

 

In only one week there had been too much grief, too much sadness, and they were both heavy with the weight of it all.

 

\--

 

The next day as he was eating breakfast, his phone lit up, Jack McCoy’s number flashing up on his screen.

 

“This is becoming a habit,” he mused in lieu of a greeting, swallowing his mouthful of food.

 

“I’d like to think you’ll get used to it.” McCoy sounded smug. Too smug.

 

“Not sure what you mean.”

 

“Well,” McCoy paused, for effect more than likely. “I have a hole to fill. Rafael Barba handed in his resignation this morning. I can’t think of a better man to fill it.”

 

Peter nearly choked on his coffee, spluttering a little before taking a deep breath. “You’re not serious.”

 

“Deadly,” McCoy deadpanned.

 

“You think they’ll want to work with me after I prosecuted their resident ADA?” Peter asked with a wry laugh.

 

“They’ll get used to it.”

 

Peter rolled his eyes, stabbing at his food with his fork. “You seem to have made up my mind for me.”

 

“The offer’s there. It’s gone to you ahead of anyone else,” McCoy said quietly.

 

Peter breathed out a sigh, turning away from his food. He was about to say no, about to tell McCoy he had to go back to Chicago, when his eyes fell on a photo of him and Sonny from their college days, framed and sitting on the bookshelf. He cast his eyes around the apartment, around Sonny’s belongings, a few of his own strewn around the place.

 

Why did he have to go back to Chicago? What was honestly tying him there? Home was here, with Sonny, with the man he loved. Ever since that first trip his heart had stayed in New York, drawing him back, pulling in a way he’d never felt before. And his sister needed him now, too. They didn’t have a connection, but looking after her would be a lot easier if he was nearby.

 

Home wasn’t Chicago. Home was right here. And now he had a job offer, a way to come home for good.

 

“Okay,” he said before he had even properly considered his answer. “Yeah. Okay.”

 

“I knew you’d see sense,” McCoy said with a laugh.

 

Peter couldn’t help but smile, a warmth filling him up as he ended the call. But as he glanced around the apartment again, doubt crept up in the back of his mind. What if Sonny didn’t want him around permanently? What if Sonny wasn’t ready for that? What if living in the same city ruined everything for them?

 

He was itching with the need to talk it out, with the need for confirmation that he’d made the right choice. He was in an uber on the way to the precinct before he’d even thought it through properly.

 

His mind was racing, fear of rejection, of hesitation, of anything other than the same excitement and warmth he’d felt at the mere prospect. He tried to remind himself that Sonny loved him, that they spent most of their time missing each other, but it was no use. 

 

As he reached the precinct, his stomach rolled with nerves and anticipation. He knew he could call McCoy back, knew he could change his mind, but that wasn’t the issue. What if this was simply too much too fast for them?

 

He took a deep breath before stepping inside the elevator, trying to soothe his nerves by taking deep, slow breaths, in and out, in and out.

 

He spotted Sonny as soon as he reached the squad room, legs sprawled everywhere as he chatted with a woman he assumed was Amanda, based on the photos he’d seen. He saw Amanda’s eyes flit up towards him, a scowl gracing her features before Sonny followed her eyes.

 

He got up quickly, excusing himself before he made his way over to Peter. “Everything okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Peter breathed out, hint of a smile pulling at his lips. “I have something I need to discuss with you.”

 

“And it couldn’t wait?” Sonny asked, frowning a little as he glanced back at Amanda who was eyeing them warily.

 

Peter blinked, tearing his eyes from Amanda after he realized he’d been staring. Of course he shouldn’t have come here. Of course he should have waited.

 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, turning to leave. “Of course it can wait, I shouldn’t--”

 

“Well you’re here now.” Sonny chuckled, taking him by the arm as he lead him down the hall. “What’s up?”

 

“I, erm…” Peter paused, not entirely sure what to say. He couldn’t even tell if he was excited or nervous at this point, all he knew was that he felt sick.

 

“Hey,” Sonny said softly, giving his shoulder a small squeeze. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing, nothing, um…” He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “McCoy offered me Barba’s position.”

 

He watched as Sonny’s expression changed, hurt tinging every corner of his face. “Barba’s gone?”

 

“Oh,” Peter said quietly, not having considered that Sonny wouldn’t know yet.

 

But then something like hope lit up on Sonny’s face, and his hand slid down his arm, gripping his bicep. “Wait. Did you say yes?”

 

Peter nodded, smiling warily. But when Sonny’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, grin so bright it was almost blinding, he knew he’d made the right decision.

 

“God,” Sonny breathed out, pulling Peter into a tight hug. “You’re staying.”

 

“Yeah.” Peter gripped Sonny back tight, grin threatening to engulf his face as relief filled him up, making him feel light. Slowly, he pulled back from Sonny, unable to stop the small laugh that escaped him. “I was so scared you wouldn’t want me.”

 

“Are you kidding?” Sonny asked, shaking his head, still grinning. “I want this so much. More than anything.”

 

“You’ll have to help me hunt for an apartment, though.” Peter nudged Sonny’s arm.

 

Sonny’s grin slipped, lips turning downward. “Right. Yeah. Sure.”

 

Peter felt winded by the sudden change, his own grin slipping just a little. “What’s wrong?”

 

“No, nothing,” Sonny said quickly, casting his eyes downward. “I just...I thought maybe you’d live with me, but I get it, it’s too fast, it’s--”

 

“Sonny, of course I want to live with you.” Peter lifted Sonny’s chin so they were face to face, eye to eye, expression suddenly serious. “I want that more than anything. I just didn’t want to assume.”

 

“Don’t feel pressured to--”

 

Peter shook his head, stopping Sonny’s words with a quick brush of his thumb over his partner's lips. “I don’t feel pressured. I didn’t want to pressure you.”

 

Sonny breathed out a sigh, sagging a little as he smiled. “Good.”

 

“Good,” Peter agreed, letting go of Sonny’s face.

 

As they smiled at each other lost in their own world, for the first time since this entire whirlwind had started just over a year ago, Peter felt a sense of peace wash over him.

 

Finally, he was coming home.


End file.
